


terminate your absolutes

by Eissel



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Deja Vu, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Literary References & Allusions, Minor Character Death, Not Canon Compliant, Psychological Trauma, Rewrite, Supernatural Elements, Time Loop, Time Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eissel/pseuds/Eissel
Summary: Maes Hughes had been normal for as long as he could remember.That was why he was surprised when he saw an eerie, flickering vision of himself, sitting at the bar he was about to drag Roy into, taking a few sips from a frosted glass, and then collapse onto the floor.(Messing with time has its consequences, and Maes witnesses them firsthand)
Relationships: Heathcliff Erbe & Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye & Maes Hughes & Roy Mustang
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	terminate your absolutes

**Author's Note:**

> Or, Maes Hughes’ Theory on the Function of Alternate Selves  
> [I had fun doing a time-reset/loop story from the perspective of the target :> And, just as clarifcation, Hughes isn’t looping. It sometimes seems like he is, but he’s not looping. However Roy’s still looping as normal, with every death being 1 cycle, with potential subloops for Roy to figure out the way to save him.]
> 
> Fun fact: The like 3 songs I listened to as I wrote this were Queen of the Glass, Queen Merry-Go-’Round, and Creation Girl Gretel, because if my readers are gonna suffer, might as well suffer alongside them.

_1900, Central Military Academy -_ Sighting no. 1: “ _you’re just making it worse.”_

Maes Hughes had been normal for as long as he could remember.

That was why he was surprised when he saw an eerie, flickering vision of himself, sitting at the bar he was about to drag Roy into, taking a few sips from a frosted glass, and then collapse onto the floor.

He’d been so scared that he’d acquiesced to Roy’s request that they stay back with Heathcliff and study for their upcoming Military History test. But even that failed to calm his erratic heartbeat, and several times Roy and Heathcliff had asked if he wanted one of them to go fetch him sleeping pills (Roy had mumbled something about synthesizing some via alchemy, which _thankfully_ Heathcliff had shut down before the younger male had explored that path too far) so he could knock himself out and be more refreshed.

He had told them both no (politely, then more forcefully) until they shrugged and gave up, and he’d even found himself calming down right up until the point Roy had pulled out a bottle of booze he’d had his aunt smuggle in through care packages. 

“To another successful night of studying!” He’d cheered, but Hughes had eyed the bottle like it was pure evil. By the time Roy started pouring, Maes had felt sick to his stomach, and had excused himself, citing sickness. Roy had given him a suspicious look, but Heathcliff had bought the (semi) lie, and excused himself. 

He’d thought that with some sleep, he’d be able to get over the freak experience, but no, it just got worse. His dreams distorted into parodies of themselves, as he saw the ghostly vision collapse on the floor over and over and over again.

He saw a flickering, shadowy image of his dead body, on a stretcher in the morgue. Saw Roy, face red and splotchy from crying, clutching a stick of chalk and a half filled bottle of water in his hands.

He saw Roy lay his body down on a stretch of empty space, watched him sketch a circle with symbols that Maes would have no hopes of deciphering in his _lifetime;_ even if he _had_ taken an interest in alchemy. Maes watched, as Roy clapped his hands, then touched the circle, and stood there, silent and still, as the world around them seemed to unravel. 

The room around them seemed to shift, the scenery _fracturing_ in front of his eyes, like time was being wrestled into submission. The bright blue alchemical discharge bent into arcs, like it was folding in upon itself, and instead of beading it was becoming more and more intense. 

He heard for a split second, someone knocking on the door, along with someone else shouting, and then he heard it again, with the voice sounding like it had been played backwards. The lights in the morgue blew out, and Maes met the empty green irises of his corpse. 

He woke up screaming. 

* * *

_1900, Central Military Academy -_ Sighting no. 2: “ _observation is overrated._ ”

He saw another ghost (Was it a ghost? It was more like an imprint than anything else right?) around the corner of an alleyway he was meant to patrol that night. Well, ‘ghost’ made it sound like he had seen just one. 

There were three actually. He counted 7 visible stab wounds on each body.

On patrol that night, he heard gunshots before he saw the scene. 

Roy, pistol (he recognized it as the other man’s prized 1895 Habigen contract model of the standard issue Steinfelden C84, and he wondered why he had it with him, Roy considered the damn thing too precious to actually _use_ it) out, eyes narrowed in anger, blood pooling at his feet. 

The sight proved too much for him, and he threw up on the ground, and he barely heard Roy’s shout of surprise, too overwhelmed by the olfactory stimuli around him to focus on anything else. He felt Roy steady him, and he stared blankly into raven-black irises. 

“What the hell?” He asked shakily, and then everything else snapped back into focus, and he felt something strangely warm and sticky against his side. “Roy…?” He asked, fear climbing once more. “Were you-”

“Stabbed me once. I’ll need a couple of stitches, but I’ll be fine. Go sit down Maes, and take a pill while you’re at it.” Roy ran off, and Maes stared into the dark alleyway, and watched as the ghosts of his now altered past refused to go away.

* * *

He woke up drenched in cold sweat, but at least he didn’t scream. His hands flew to the place where he had felt warm blood staining his body, and felt nothing but solid, non-slick flesh.

Maes stared over at the occupied bed, Roy sleeping the night away, the only sign that his sleep wasn’t as peaceful as it seemed being the slight frown at the corners of his lips. 

* * *

_1901, Central Military Academy -_ Sighting no. 3: “ _regret is as regret does_ ”

Half a year after the first sightings, Maes witnessed another flickering figure at the side of the dorms buildings, just outside the window, almost directly parallel to the range. As he draws close, he _swears_ he can hear the damn thing saying something, but its mouth isn’t moving.

Even as he watches it, he doesn’t know how he could hear anything, all that happens is the flickering figure drawing close, almost rounding the corner, then he watched as it jerked back violently, and crumpled to the ground.

Then the vision would reset just a couple of seconds later. Maes watched it, transfixed, for more iterations that he would care to admit, and only left after he heard some voices about to round the corner.

Laying awake in his bed, (cajoled there by Roy who had wanted to celebrate Heathcliff’s new-found plans for the summer) Maes distantly heard whispering come from Roy’s bed, it sounded vaguely Xingese in that way he knew Roy would grumble (if he was aware Hughes was even awake, or that he had heard him in their first place) that it wasn’t.

“Gin leuhng” 

He was polite enough to not mention it in the morning, even if Roy’s eyes did seem unusually bright.

_1908, Ishval._ Encounter no. 1: “ _Have I played the part well?_ ”

He and Roy tend to disagree on a lot of things, the purpose and direction of the war being one of them, but he is silent as he enters the tent they share, Roy on his cot, white thin coat pulled up over his head.

He thinks that Roy is in mourning, and it hurts perhaps more than he wants to admit that he _isn’t._

He had a choice. Heathcliff or Roy, and he chose. 

He hadn’t realized how badly it would hurt after all the adrenaline wore off. 

Maes takes a seat next to Roy, and slumps into his side. “It was going to be you.” Roy says, voice quiet, tired, and horribly thin.

“Nun diri ca.” He says, lightly punching the other man in the shoulder. “That’s crazy talk.”

“Alchemists _are_ crazy.” Roy mutters, and Hughes pulls out his letter from Gracia, hands shakily tracing each word. With each word he goes over, he’s reminded that neither Roy nor Heathcliff ever really accomplished their goals. “It was going to be you up there.” Roy repeats, turning to face him, face shadowed by the dim lamp (that they _technically_ shouldn’t have had on, but fuck regulations) in the corner of the tent. “I was just a few seconds behind, got caught up in the mess that was the street fighting, and you were already on the roof. A barely 30-second difference, and he shot you. I watched it happen, and then…” He trailed off. 

Hughes has heard of near death hallucinations before, but he’s never heard of ones where it’s of someone else dying in your place. 

“Well, here I am buddy, hale and whole. But hell, compared to you, I might as well look like I have one foot in the grave.” Roy’s fingers brush against his chest, where Maes knows a stark, mottled, blue and purple bruise mars his pale skin. 

( _“We’re going to look all old and wrinkly by the time we hit 50, but when Roy’s that age he’ll barely look legal!” Heathcliff laughed, as Maes held a sputtering Roy back from killing the Ishvalan cadet with a mascara wand)_

The joke didn’t seem half as funny now, not with one of the people who was supposed to be there for its punchline dead on the roof of a half-burned out building in the depths of Dāsa. Roy slumps against him, eyes closed. “I think… I think I was thankful that he shot me instead.”

“Chi è merculeddi!” Hughes exclaims, jerking away in shock. “Roy, why the fuck would you say that?!”

“He didn’t kill me, did he?” He laughs, bitterness and annoyance seeping through his tone. “Almost did though. Hell of a lotta tries it took to get that right.” Maes doesn’t comment on the bizarre sentence, just lets Roy ramble. “He shot me, and hit the fucking _pocket watch_ of all things. God hates me. No, God doesn’t hate me, God is _dead_ .” The man throws up his hands and sighs. “Amestrian is a shitty language. _Tot._ You say, God is _tot._ ” 

“I don’t know where you’re going with this.” Roy impatiently gestures to the remains of his caved in pocket watch from where it gleams on the table, the Amestrian Dragon in its center seeming almost red in the lamplight. He gestures to it like it _means_ something, but Maes understand him at all. 

“ _Tot._ ” He enunciates, spitting it out like it was poison. “ _Tot._ It doesn’t encapsulate it at all. _Séi_ is much better.” He says decisively, as though Hughes has any idea what he’s talking about. “ _Séi_ is a good and proper word for the phenomenon, it has a nice rise, and a nice fall, and then it is silent forever. You see? _Séi_ is better, because it is the _journey_ that matters.” Roy wilts after that tirade, having worn himself out on an etymological argument that Maes couldn’t even follow.

He gets up, and lets Roy collapse on the cot. Clearly he needs it. 

He takes first watch, and shacks up outside, counting the stars (when they are visible beyond the smoke of rifles and engines and artillery) above him. 

“ _Séi_ means ‘dead’, huh?” He whispers to himself, hands clenching around the handles of his knives, his gun laying unattended in the tent. He can’t bring himself to hold it. Not tonight. “Sorry Roy, but I can’t agree.” 

_Mortu._ Succinct and sharp. Like a bullet to the head.

(He knew Roy was right. **_He_ ** had been meant to die up there. So it _hadn’t_ been a choice between Heathcliff and Roy. No. 

It had been a choice between Heathcliff and _himself_ , and selfish bastard he was, he let Heathcliff take the fall.)

* * *

_1908, Ishval._ Encounter no 2: “ _No disturbance in this world of ours._ ”

He hears their words more clearly now, they have actual language paired with them instead of just sound. 

The visage he sees upon the sands is barely two feet away from where he and Roy sit, the outcropping where the alchemist had set up his preferred 1850 Werfhorst rifle. “Can you move Maes?”

“Ah, sorry.” He moves to the right, putting more distance between him and the ghost. 

“Thanks.” Roy says tersely, his figure laying flat on the rock, hidden away by the jutting cliff edge above them. “Springfield said that the target was wearing the tricolor, right?”

“Mhm. Guess that’s why he sent you out here. You know, rather than one of the hicks.”

“You sure do defend ‘em despite speaking so bad of ‘em.” Roy huffed. “Now, shut up, they’re starting to come out.”

“Wind’s at 5. Sun’s at about 190. Your target is 5’4.”

“Got it.” Roy breathed in and out, and he pulled the lever back, waiting for the target to enter into the sight’s viewing area. Hughes watched as Roy, in one fluid motion, slammed the lever home; the rifle went off, and Roy’s arm got a nasty bruise for his troubles. “Off by… 2 mils I want to say.” Hughes looked through his binoculars, and watched as a presumably Arugonian man writhed on the ground. 

“You went for the chest.” He accused. “You had a clear shot for the head.”

“I’m not _Hawkeye_ Maes. I need _some_ room for error.” Roy sighed, and picked up the rifle, unaware that Hughes was watching him carefully until the entire gun was packed away. His green eyes flickered over to the ghost on the sands. 

It’s ‘ _Ci dicu l'amuri._ ’ faded away in the winds, and Maes had to suppress a shiver. The thought briefly flashed by in his head that if Roy was ordered to, he’d kill him just like that Auregonian. 

* * *

He woke up in their tent, silent. He stared at Roy as he sat up in bed, writing in his notebook, equations and snippets of alchemical theories falling from his lips. He hears a whisper of “I can’t believe I was crazy enough to do that,” and it makes him feel virulently sick. Maes’ hand snaked down to his pocket-knives as his best friend read by the dim lamplight. 

They brought him little comfort whenever Roy murmured his name, seemingly in a daze, and his hands reflexively clenched around their handles.

* * *

In the morning, he sees it again.

Its eyes are wide behind broken glasses. The head snaps back in a jerky, unnatural motion, and then it just lays there on the ground. Maes can only stare at his broken body lying there on the golden sands. He can’t even figure out why he would die there, it’s not in the ZOA, and it’s not near enough to base camp for it to be the site of a firing squad execution (not that he’d know why he’d be executed, he wasn’t doing anything illegal).

That leaves the murder to be something that was done by an individual. 

He can only think of one person who would murder him. 

The revelation is oddly stunning, but also not at the same time. It’s not like Roy would ever _want_ to follow through on that order, but Maes knew better than anyone that Roy had no power. He didn’t have the luxury of the protection someone like Maes would have. He would have to take the shot, and ignore the fallout.

He wouldn’t have a choice. 

* * *

_1909, Ishval._ Encounter no. 3: “ _Take a step forwards. It’ll be easier that way._ ”

He wakes up, a letter covered in blood in his left pocket. Maes has never seen it before, but when he reads it, its oddly familiar to him. 

Hughes makes the mistake of sitting on the bit of land that overlooks the front lines as he reads the letter. He sees mounds and mounds of flickering bodies, all stacked on top of each other. The sight is oddly mesmerizing; he’s become so desensitized that it’s wrapped all the away around from being horrifying to beautiful. 

Maes briefly wonders if Roy sees the same thing he does, wonders if this is the source of the stress the young alchemist always seems to be afflicted by. There is one thing that bothers him though. Out of all the flickering, ghostly apparitions, he can still hear one with clear distinction. 

“ _Ci dicu l'amuri._ ” It hasn’t disappeared, even though it’s been more than a week since he and Roy had visited the outcropping. The phenomenon evokes a sense of wonder within him. He’s so, _so curious_ to know _why_ it hasn’t faded away yet.

He finds the reason why barely a minute into him stepping into their camp. Roy is bruised and bloody, and someone is being held down to the ground. 

“Smuggler.” Roy says, something approaching victory and pride filling raven black irises. It’s all wrong. Everything about the situation exudes wrongness, from the man struggling to free himself, to the emotions that are oddly out of place on Roy’s face, to the presence of the apparition. 

He can feel its touch now, something that he hadn’t been able to before. It feels cold, like if he had just stepped into a winter blizzard. “He says he was framed.” Roy scoffs, checking his rifle. 

“You’re not going to use alchemy?” Roy cocks his head, and he squints his eyes, like he’s never seen Hughes before in his life. A frisson of paranoia that runs down his back tells him to _run_ , tells him that Roy not only _knows_ about the ghostly figures but is the **_cause_ ** of them. 

His eyes flicker down to the rifle. He can’t help but wonder how many times Roy’s ever thought of Maes’ head in the crosshairs while he shoots. “No I’m not.” Roy says with finality. “It’s too much of a waste. It’s not like I can pinpoint all that well. Besides, I was just out in the field almost all day. It’s amazing I haven’t collapsed yet.”

_Liar._

Hughes hadn’t been around many alchemists, just Roy, Cupel, and Arc Flash when the three of them were forced to group up and take Raudha as part of a joint operation. But he _knows_ Roy’s lying. The alchemist developed new ways to utilize his flames nearly every day, and his stamina bordered on the edge of unnatural. 

There was no way in hell Roy was tired out, even if he had spent most of the day out in the field. He watches as his best friend recites the struggling man’s crimes as he shoots him, point-blank, directly in the head.

Maes watches, as the ghost of a vindictive smile seems to form on Roy’s face. 

* * *

The apparition fades quickly after that. But what haunts him, is its last words, clear as day for Hughes to hear. 

“Mi dispiaci Roy. Ci dicu l'amuri.”

* * *

_1909, Ishval._ Theory no. 1: “ _Pain is the only way to learn._ ”

He steals Roy’s notebook, because he clearly has a death-wish. It’s encoded of course, but no one, not even Roy, can really encode a transmutation circle, and this one doesn’t look like anything he’s ever seen before.

He traces the alien geometries that form the base of the circle, recognizes symbols from their scribbled on math textbooks from back in the academy. His eyes land on the central equations, circled twice below the circle.

dStotal =Ssys+ Ssurr > 0

dStotal =Ssys+ Ssurr = 0

dStotal =Ssys+ Ssurr< 0

dStotal =KB+ln(21)

He sucks in a sharp breath, half-remembering lectures about thermodynamics and entropy. He _remembers_ those equations, even if he doesn’t quite understand what their intended use is.

Maes’ hand trembles as he turns the page, and he can’t contain the gasp at what he finds written there. It’s penned mostly in shorthand, like Roy had written it down as an afterthought. 

_Loop 17, sub-loop 8. Investigation succeeded, M not framed for smuggling/deserting. Guaranteed 2w respite, On duty in HT theater, M is with H, impossible for phen. to occur w/o presence._

_Loop 18, sub-loop 1. Shot M. Take sed. after Fr._

_Recheck C2._

_Loop 18, sub-loop 2. Shot M. WrPWrT? S-C & KMn on duty at ETD, confirm. _

_Loop 18, sub-loop 3. Death and cause confirmed. Bullet from A-side, suggest duty in T, Dist. 34, or Patrol w/t H._

_Loop 18, sub-loop 4. T, Dist. 34 irritates sit. Suggest Patrol._

_Loop 18, sub-loop 5. M survives. Must hold out until transfer._

_Loop 19. Barely 2d since 18.5. KIA by hand._

It didn’t take much to realize that _M_ had to be referring to himself, and each “Loop” was a death. Maes’ hands trembled. He’d _died_ before. At least 19 times if the notebook was to be believed. It explained the ghosts alright. Those were _possible_ versions of himself. No. Not _possible_ versions of himself. _Dead_ versions of himself. 

Dead versions of himself that Roy was either causing or preventing. He wasn’t quite sure, not with how ambiguous the wording could be. Maes swallowed hard, and gingerly grasped the book in his hands. 

He’d confront Roy, and ask him just _what the hell_ was going on.

* * *

Roy walked into their tent at sundown, and Maes glared him down. 

“Roy.”

“That _is_ my name Maes.” Roy chuckled. “What’s with the killer stare, you’re not going to go all Prince Fortin on me, are you?” 

“Your notebook.” Maes thanked his training for Intel for his ability to spy Roy’s minuscule stiffening. 

“What? Did I leave my papers all over the place? Maes, I’m sorry, I won’t-”

“Why do I keep dying?” He asked, shoving the book into Roy’s hands. “ _19_ times. At _least._ ” Roy looked up at him, eyes wide, then he sighed, defeated. 

“Fuck, should’ve known I couldn’t have kept this from you.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly. “But no, not at least 19. Try 50.” 

“ _Fift-_ ”

“Each sub-loop is, in itself, a loop. You always die at the end of each sub-loop, unless I manage to figure out a way to save you.”

“No wonder you’ve been so clingy recently. I die a lot then, I take it. Must be my beautiful face. Everyone’s jealous of it I hear.” Maes let the joke slip out, voice strained. 

“Not always.” Roy said, with such a placid tone that it made Maes dive to the side. A hair too far to the right, he slams into the flimsy plastic table, and clutches at his side. It will be his last mistake. “Sometimes it’s friendly fire.” 

He heard it before he felt it, but when the pain from the bullet _did_ kick in, it hurt like a bitch. “I’m really sorry Maes-” and dammit, Hughes could _hear_ the apology in the tone alone- “But I don’t think whatever being caused this will take too kindly to you being aware of this mess. See you in the next sub-loop.”

Maes heard Roy walk out the tent, and then, quietly, as though trying not to wake anyone, a _snap_ could be heard.

* * *

_1909, Ishval._ Theory no. 2: “ _It will start and end with him._ ”

When Maes “wakes up”, it is 2 weeks later than he remembers. He’s in an unfamiliar train car, in unfamiliar territory.

Roy is nowhere to be found. His parting words still echo in his thoughts though, as though he were still back in the tent.

He doesn’t know why he can still remember that conversation. Maybe it’s because he _wasn’t_ meant to die there, the last entry in the notebook had been for Loop 19 sub-loop 1, and in that entry, he had been KIA, presumably in the field. 

But that day, he hadn’t been out in the ZOA, or at least, not in the trenches. He’d been assigned as an attaché to Borsig’s _zug_ because (at the time) he’d been led to believe that the Second Lieutenant had needed an extra guard for the New Optain guns’ ammo.

It looked like Roy had been maneuvering and manipulating Maes’ life all this time. Ever since he had first seen that apparition at the bar back in the Academy. 

He didn’t know whether to be resentful or grateful. On one hand, he was _alive_ thanks to Roy. 

On the other… It was _his_ life. What gave _anyone_ the right to interfere with it, for good or ill?

The train’s whistle sounded, and Maes stayed firmly in his seat. He’d get off eventually, but for now he’d resolve himself to savor a good 4 months of being free from Roy and his time shenanigans. 

* * *

_1909, Ishval._ Theory no.3: “ _If I pull the trigger…Then?_ ”

He meets Roy on the desert sands, like so many times before.

Roy doesn’t see it coming, _can’t_ possibly see it coming. 

He shoots, Roy goes down, and he blacks out.

Maes wakes up, staring at faded green burlap, and does his best to not scream.

* * *

_1910, East City Command Center_ . Law no. 1: “ _Matter cannot be created or destroyed._ ”

Maes has learned over the years (do they really count as years if the time passed only happened because of an alchemical phenomenon) that it’s better to not let Roy in on the fact that he knows about the loops.

This is mostly because Roy’s a paranoid wreck that’ll sooner kill Maes himself than let him stay dead _forever,_ so Hughes can’t fault him for it too much. But it’s safer for his own mental (and quite frankly, _physical_ ) health that Roy’s kept in the dark about this one. 

It’s sometimes disorientating to wake up several weeks ahead with no warning, but by this time it’s just become yet another thing to become numb to. However, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t _scared_ of this whole thing, because it just confirms an old, deep sated fear in Maes:

That destiny was something set in stone, that his life’s path had already been decided and there was nothing he could do to change it. 

He looks at Roy with a hint of caution nowadays, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Hawkeye, who corners him at a bar one night. 

“What did he do?” She asks bluntly, knowing that Maes will know who she means. 

“Nothing.” He replies easily. “Bartender, a G&T for her. Lime.” The man across the counter nods, and Hawkeye raises an eyebrow. 

“I don’t get drunk that easily.” She says. It’s a challenge. 

“Neither do I.” She won’t get him drunk enough to reveal this secret. No. He intends on keeping it until his dying day. “You’re starting off at an advantage here. I’ve already downed two shots of vodka.” He muses. 

“A glass of G&T will catch me back up.” She retorts, and levels a glare at him. “What did he do?”

“Nothing you can fix Riza. It’s just some post-war jitters.”

“You don’t believe the stuff they’re printing, do you Maes?”

“Of course not!” Her brow scrunches; 

“Then why are you two fighting?”

“Just guy stuff.” He evades. “Don’t worry. It’ll all blow over quick. You know how he is. Roy can’t hold a grudge to save his life.” Which still holds true even through the loops, because every time he slips up in front of Roy, every time the other man holds a pistol to his head, his eyes and voice hold nothing but regret, never a hint of anger, even though Maes was indisputably the one who had gotten him stuck in this whole mess to begin with. 

He feels someone placing their hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t even look up to acknowledge Hawkeye. “I… We never had a fight like this you know.” He lies. “I shouldn’t even be this broken up about it but-”

“Knowing him, he probably made an insensitive comment or two, and is beating himself up over it.” Yeah, that was one way to put it. “...M- I mean, the Lieutenant Colonel-” Her voice stumbles over the syllables, like it’s still unused to Roy’s “new” title. “He’s never been good at expressing his feelings.” Her smile, he imagines, is bitter and cutting. “Ironic, no?”

Hughes nods, and when Riza’s G&T comes, she slides it over to him. “I’ll be seeing you around Major Hughes.” He downs the glass in one swig as soon as she leaves, and quickly orders another. 

Everything hurts. Like fire coursing through his veins, or being shot a thousand times. The phantom pains from each death _hurt_ when they do kick in, and he can’t stand the look in his loved ones’ eyes when they stare at him, pitying and scared. 

Maes knows that the pains are just reminders of how fragile his life is, of how the only thing keeping him from being dead was one half-Xingese alchemist playing with forces he didn’t fully comprehend. 

He downs the next G&T the bartender serves him. And the one after that. And the one after that.

* * *

_1912, Central City._ Law no. 2: “Equivalent Exchange- where you sacrifice X to get X right back, but in form Y.”

He saves Roy once. It’s not a fancy rescue, it’s messy and bloody, and an all around shit show.

But he **_had_ ** saved him. 

Roy laughs at him when he helps load him up into the ambulance. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He manages to say _without_ slurring, which is impressive, given his pain-addled, adrenaline high brain. “ _I’m_ supposed to save _you_ dummy. But I guess this counts as equivalent too.” He giggles as the EMTs load him in and drive off.

Fucking alchemists.

* * *

_1914, Central City Command Center._ Law no. 3: “It all ends with me.”

He had felt it dawn upon him as he woke up.

_Maes Hughes will die today._

The thought echoed in his mind, not unlike many other times, but this time around, it had such a horrible finality to it, that Maes had double-checked in the mirror that morning to see if scars that shouldn’t be there had appeared on his body, checked to see if a flickering specter was following him around.

Gracia and Elicia had taken notice of his more distraught mental state, and had reacted accordingly. Gracia, making his favorite spinach quiché, and Elicia, showing off a new drawing for his approval. He bade his girls goodbye with a kiss on their cheeks, and had barely made it two steps out before Gracia grabbed his hand to stop him leaving.

“Be careful.” She whispered, and Maes carefully wiped away the tears on her cheeks.

“I will be. I might have to stay back for work though, I hope you don’t mind... Today’s also the day the Elrics are leaving for Dublith, see them off for me?” 

“Of course I will Maes.” Gracia smiled, but she didn’t loosen her grip on his hand. He smiled, and kissed her again. The kiss felt bitter, and her touch felt cold. He carefully pried his hand from hers, and hugged her tight. 

“Tell Elicia-” He paused, because those words sounded very _final_ to him. “Tell Elicia that I’m sorry I couldn’t see her off to school today.” He amends, and leaves, a feeling much like deja vu slamming into him as he walks to the car.

_He was going to die today._

The rest of the day continued as usual, shitty traffic in the morning, MPs out and about. He briefly stopped by a small café to pick up a coffee, but otherwise, the journey to command was normal. It felt _too_ normal, like someone had dropped him in the middle of a realized “perfectly normal day.” He stared out of his car window at the slowly moving traffic, no suspicious white flickers in the corner of his vision, but with the horrible feeling that he was meant to die today.

He steps out of his vintage (really, just old) car, boots’ heels clicking on the sidewalk as walked to the door where he could finally just pass through to get to work. He'd have to ask Human Resources if he was allowed to install a coffee machine in the office, clearly it was needed. 

Even as he made her way to the door, that feeling of Déjà-vu kept scratching at the back of his mind, just enough to keep him uneasy. Just enough to keep bringing itself back up. Shaking his head, he reached a hand out to the handle of the door, planning on telling Lanz, Sheska, and Hales to take out the three files on the Koehler case while he worked on getting the information for the Elrics-

He watches as a flickering version of himself, sits down at his desk, and starts writing on imaginary paper. Maes flinches, which causes his staff to look at him concernedly, but he laughs it off and blames it on a delayed sugar rush. As he takes his seat, the feeling of déjà-vu continues to invade his senses. It’s not a terribly unfamiliar feeling, it can’t be when your best friend was experiencing time looping to save _your_ life, but it does always throw Maes off a bit.

Still, he had a task to do. Better get to it.

It would be the sound of the door to the annex room opening up that be his death knell. In he stepped. In she stepped. He dug frantically through the stacks of maps, until he found one he was looking for. Tearing a pen’s cap off with his teeth, he hurriedly scribbled dates and locations onto the map.

Staring down at his handiwork, he suppressed a laugh.

_A nationwide transmutation circle._

A soft, sultry voice, belied by a sharp undercurrent of disgust came from behind him. He saw the flickering figure in the corner of his eye and leapt to the right, her fingers were like ice as they grazed him. She was good, but he had precognition on his side.

The ringing of steel as he drew his pocket knives from their hiding places was perfect punctuation to the fight. Not that he would allow her the pleasure of killing him. Let it not be said that Maes Hughes indulged women other than his wife and daughter. 

It was all a blur after that, just pain and blood, and an adrenaline high. He distantly recalled Archives being set on fire, blearily remembered the secretary he had gone to talk to and then decided against, fearing for her safety. He spies the phone booth he normally uses to call Gracia, watches as his flickering figure enters it, blood dripping down one side.

(At least this time around he seemed to have suffered relatively less)

_I’m going to die today._

He picked up the phone, and placed all his weight on the frame of the phone booth. He pulls out a picture of his girls and breathes in deep, ignoring it as it slips to the floor, terror filling him. He is so fucking terrified of not being able to see the people he loves ever again.

“I’m going to need your code-”

Maes grit his teeth, and recited the new military code he’d been assigned, hoping against hope that Roy would pick up. As he heard the click of the call being transferred, he hears a bullet being chambered. His heart stops.

  
  


He looked up, wheezing and coughing. He sees Lieutenant Ross in front of him, and he can’t hide the look of betrayal on his face. He had _liked_ Lieutenant Ross, she was a nice woman, always ready with a joke, and so self-conscious about that stupid _mole-_

“Could you put down the receiver Lieutenant Colonel?”

“You’re not Maria Ross.” He forced out. The fake smiled darkly at him, and touched a finger to their cheek. Maes watched as it added the mole that had been missing from its imitation. Going for his knives again, Maes was stopped in his tracks.

Gracia was holding a gun, pointing straight at his chest.

_Roy was holding a rifle to his head._

She was smiling.

_He was smiling._

His breath hitched, he could feel himself start crying. The phone banged against the walls of the booth, and he heard Roy’s voice over the line, probably something about calling him to brag about Gracia and Elicia.

The imposter- _Gracia_ \- pulled the trigger. Maes slumped against the booth, and tried to grab the phone, tried to tell Roy about the horrible secret he had learned so that maybe the next loop would go better. 

The imposter stepped over his hand and hung up. Maes felt his vision wavering, and then his vision narrowed and blurred, like he was about to black out. He struggled to stay lucid, feeling that if he died here, he wasn’t going to wake up again, even though that was irrational, he _knew_ Roy was looping, he _knew_ that he’d wake up maybe a week later, everything being just fine. He’d _seen_ for himself that he’d done this exact thing before. He would be _fine._

He’d be fine. 

With that thought in mind, Maes finally let himself close his eyes.

* * *

_1915, Central City Hospital._ Post-Loop. “Heaven and Earth in Jest, Movement I - Cadenza for A Vocalist.” Compositional Notes: _Should be sung “con amore e fuoco.”_

He stands in front of Truth, his sight restored, the Ishvalan Philosopher’s Stone disintegrated. 

“I’m guessing you’re the one who allowed me to go back, all those years ago?” The failure still spears his heart through, still keeps him up at night. 

“ **Would it, if only it were so.** ” Roy’s nose scrunches slightly, because if there’s anything he doesn’t take lightly it’s the weight of a human life.

“Then who did?”

“ **That is the question Mister Alchemist.** ” He spits out a curse in his mother’s tongue, and returns to glaring back at the entity. 

“That still implies that someone did. I assume you won’t tell me though.” The being stays silent. “Figures. Well, let’s get this over with. I want to go back.”

“ **Are you, perhaps, interested in a deal Mister Alchemist?** ”

“You say that as though this wasn’t orchestrated by you.” Roy scoffs. “Besides, if you weren’t the one that broke time for me, then what’s the point?” Truth shifted, and Roy forced himself to stay strong.

“ **Then how about this Mister Alchemist. The Philosopher’s Stone still had some leftover energy from your transmutation. With it, I will offer you one last opportunity to save your friend, and correct that which has been set on the wrong path.** ”

_You would trade away all those second chances… Just to spend time with me?_

It’s not a deal at all. Not when Truth has all the cards and knows what Roy is going to say. 

“I thought you weren’t the one who caused the time loops.” Roy said dryly. 

“ **I am one, and I am all. I am the universe, and I am even you.** ” Which still _wasn’t_ an answer, but Roy was just about done wasting time.

One last chance, to go back and fix everything, from Hughes dying to Fullmetal losing his alchemy. There is no choice here. “l’ll take it.”

And everything disappears in a flash of white.

* * *

_1914, Central City Command Center._ Acts III & V. “Where’s it going to end?” “Isn’t _that_ the question?”

The last thing Hughes can remember thinking is: _I’m sorry._ It’s a generic reply, something that can be said to many a situation in his life. 

It could have been said to Gracia as he woke up that morning. Could’ve been said to Hawkeye whenever he disrupted the office’s workflow.

He could’ve said it as a reply to Roy way-back when.

_“Would you ever redo it Hughes? Like, if you got a chance, one singular chance at the end of it all, would you reset everything?”_

_“I don’t think so. I mean, at the end of it all? That’s a_ **_long_ ** _time Roy, that’s not even something I can really imagine. Not_ **_really_ ** _.” He spread his hands wide, stretching so his even his fingers were straining to capture the sky. “If someone asked me, at the end of everything… If I wanted to reset this world, I don’t think I would.” Roy had rolled over then, from his original place on the grassy hill, a perplexed expression on his face._

_“You wouldn’t?” Roy’s expression twisted, and he pushed himself up on his arms. “This world, placed where it is: A rotting leaf on a dying branch of another dying branch that makes up a tiny insignificant part of a tree… you wouldn’t change any of that?” Maes turned to him, open honesty on his face as he grinned widely._

_“I wouldn’t change a thing.” He grabbed Roy’s arm. “I wouldn’t change a thing, because all those other worlds? All those other branches and leaves you’re talking about? I don’t know a single thing about them. I just know that in_ **_this_ ** _world, I was able to spend time with you.”_

_“You would trade away all those infinite second chances… just to spend time with me?”_

_“Yeah.” Maes flopped back to the grass, and laughed. “Jeez, what’s with the philosophizing today? It’s a lie-in day, no thinking allowed!”_

He should’ve said I’m sorry. Maes _really_ wished he’d been able to seize the chance while he still had it, wished he’d been able to muster up two tiny words to Roy. _I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry for being the cause of the whole looping mess._

_I’m sorry for choosing myself over Heathcliff and not figuring out a way for all of us to make it._

_I’m sorry for leaving you again._

_I’m sorry for not telling you all of this earlier._

_I’m sorry for placing this burden on your shoulders._

_I’m sorry for dying._

The space between the trigger being pulled and the gun going off was like infinity. Maes kept his eyes open. He wouldn’t let the bastard have the satisfaction of seeing any more fear on his face.

Maes waited.

And then he heard a quiet _snap._

Everything was fire for one glorious, horrible instant. Everything was fire, burning under the night’s sky, and Hughes watched as the homunculus died, regenerated, and died again. An involuntary shiver of frisson went down his spine. He watched, transfixed as his attacker burned, and then, as if they were never there, the flames receded.

“Maes!” Good _God_ he could be a thousand years drowned, could be delirious and out of his _damn mind_ , but there was no way, not ever, not in any of the infinite worlds he had been told about so long ago that he wouldn’t be able to recognize _that_ voice. Maes stumbles out of the phone booth to see him clearly under the moonlight.

“Roy!” He yells back, voice somehow not wavering. “Y-You-.”

“I made it.” He smiles. “I finally did it.” And Maes chokes back tears, and forces a smile instead.

“Yeah. You did it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Forgive me: 見諒/Gin leuhng - Cantonese  
>   
> Don’t say that: Nun diri ca - Sicilian  
>   
> That’s horrible!: Chi è merculeddi - Sicilian  
>   
> Tell her I love her: Ci dicu l'amuri - Sicilian  
>   
> I'm sorry: Mi dispiaci - Sicilian  
>   
> Platoon: zug - German  
>   
> With love and fire (musical): con amore e fuoco - Italian  
>   
> Solo (musical): Cadenza - Italian  
>   
>    
>   
> Also, the equations written in story got messed up by AO3 formatting, for the curious, the first three are Gibbs free energy equations (spontaneous, equilibrium and impossible), and the last is the Boltzmann Equation for change in entropy for a process.  
> Also, also, here is Roy's short hand code, because even while I was writing it, I got lost trying to decode it sometimes:  
> M - Maes  
>   
> #letter - Number of x amount of time. 2w = 2 weeks, 2d = 2 days  
>   
> phen - phenomenon  
>   
> HT Theater - The current area where Roy is deployed - AKA the town of Ḩayāt  
>   
> sed. - sedative  
>   
> Fr - Frühe, the stand in for Reveille  
>   
> WrPWrT - Wrong Place, Wrong Time  
>   
> ETD - Estimated Time of Death  
>   
> S-C - Saint-Chamond, an OC of mine  
>   
> KMan - Kauffman, one of the men that served with Maes in the manga  
>   
> A-side - Amestrian side  
>   
> T Dist 34 - Tower, District 34  
>   
> H - Hawkeye  
>   
> Loop notation: 18.5 = Loop 18, sub-loop 5


End file.
